Next to Me (Oliver and Felicity)
by imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: Digg somehow sneaks vodka into the café, and the three of them sit squashed in the tiny booth, filled with 7 shots of s then the song starts playing, when Oliver's so relaxed that hes languidly leaned back against the booth munching on one of Felicity syrup-soaked pancakes, and suddenly he's staring at her with a strange look on his face and lips tugged slightly at the ends


**Next to me, Olicity style. Hope you enjoy!**

**(Also, I am on Ao3 as well!)**

"_Something about the way that you walked into my living room, casually and confident lookin' at the mess I am, but still you, still you want me."_

The first time Felicity hears the song play, they're at a gala trying to catch a serial killer with a sick tendency of collecting couples' ring fingers as his trophy. Oliver is dead set against involving Felicity in the matter, but seeing as Diggle is the only other option and the_ entirety _of Starling City knows Oliver is straighter than a bean pole, it's one blond I.T. girl wrapped tight in a satin red dress that's on his arm tonight.

Felicity is hanging out by the finger foods, gazing around happily while munching on a plate of _very _expensive snacks. All she can think about is how salty the crab cakes are and how much she likes the song that's just started to play and _God, she wants to dance_. The rhythm is slow and warm and for some odd reason it feels like coming home, but she squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head in admonishment.

_Focus, Smoak. Focus._

It's Oliver's hands that pull her to the dancefloor, though, a lithe grip on her waist and a calloused palm resting gently against her own, and when she looks at him she takes in a quick breath.

There's a softness about him.

Not in his physique, _God no_. Where Felicity can barely do a pushup, Oliver is all muscle and abs and sturdiness and yes, sometimes that mere fact is a daunting distraction enough on its own. But something about the way his eyes crinkle when Felicity offers him a shy smile, something about the way she hears a small sigh fall from his lips when she slowly places her hand on his shoulder, makes all the sharp ridges and edges of Oliver Queen fade into warmth.

And they dance, slow and steady, and three minutes and fifty seconds**,** it's only blue eyes and strawberry stained lips and worn hands against soft skin and Felicity feels so full of something it's almost crushing her chest but then Oliver smiles – _really_ smiles – and it's then she realizes that the swell in her chest is contentment. There's no serial killer, no undercover op, no Diggle chattering away in their ears.

It's just them and the song and the faint smell of crab cakes in the distance that makes Felicity's stomach rumble. It's light and laughter and two left feet and, _yes Diggle, we see the suspect getting away, we're moving._

The second time she hears the song, they're in a café, late late one night after leaving the lair. Big Belly Burger is full to the brim and while Felicity wants to cry when she realizes she can't get her fix of greasy fries and a double cheeseburger, it's Oliver who suggests the cute little café on third before he quickly turns to her.

There's a frown on his lips as the wind and snow of the darkening evening swirl around them. Diggle bites back a knowing smile when Oliver runs the zip of Felicity's jacket all the way up to her red nose and pulls out a hat from his pocket that somehow perfectly fits over her head.

When they get to the café, Felicity is intoxicated by the smell of pancakes and cinnamon buns and chocolate chip pancakes and the giddy little fist pump she does cracks a smile so wide and genuine across the two grown mens' face that they glance at each other with quiet laughs. at her sides.

Dig somehow manages to sneak a huge bottle of vodka into the family café, and the three of them sit squashed in the little booth, filled with stories and laughter and seven shots of booze.

It's then the song starts playing, when Oliver's so relaxed that he's languidly leaned back against the torn red booth munching on one of Felicity's syrup-soaked pancakes, and suddenly he's looking at her with a strange look his face on and lips tugged slightly at the ends.

It's only for a second – only a fraction of a fraction of a second – but Felicity's almost lets herself believe that _this _is what Oliver Queen in love looks like. She shakes her head and snags the last piece of pancake away from Oliver's fork and shoves it in her mouth as she simultaneously tries to shove down the fluttering in her chest.

But then she looks up, and Oliver is still looking at her with a slightly tilted head and that same strange look, and when she meets his gaze it's as if she can't breathe.

It's over in a second, though, because the waitress comes and flashes her own pearly whites and perky breasts at the two men. And, though Felicity is now staring at the wooden table with her lip trapped between her teeth, it's Oliver who's flustered and breathy because it's as if he _can_ finally breathe again.

For it's then, with the longing beat consuming their little booth, that he _truly_ notices her for the first time. Sure, he's always seen her – always known she was beautiful, but right now, in the little booth with the frosted windows and sticky fingers and full stomachs and the chiming of laugher all around them – right now Oliver is staring at light itself.

She hears it one day at the office. She's in a bit of a mood – her period starts right before she steps out the door and _of course_ it's her favorite panties that meet the cavalry. She doesn't know how it sneaks up on her – doesn't know how she misses the cramps that stab knives into the base of her spine nor the way her legs ache and ache and ache to the point she's biting back tears by the time the elevator dings and she's on her floor – but she does, and she wants to bash herself on the head for it.

Felicity makes a beeline for her desk and unceremoniously drops her stuff under it. She's early again – she almost always is in before either of the boys – but today is just _not_ her day. It doesn't help that it's raining or that her car has a flat _again_ or that her new heels are now stained with the streaks of rain.

All she knows is that she wants to go home, but even that sounds miserable when she thinks about how much she just wants someone to give her a hug. She's about to just let herself have a good cry when the elevator dings open again, but instead of hearing the familiar sound of dress shoes against tile or the chatter of low voices, it's a sharp sting of clicking heels that fills the air.

It only takes her a second to see the sneering face of Isabel Rochev glaring down at her from her spot at her desk. She barely manages out a clipped "_What" _before she's clamping her mouth shut again because _holy frack _her cramps are killing her.

She hardly hears the snark and snide filled comments that come out of Isabel's mouth – barely nods when she raises her eyebrow in question. Felicity's sure that the folder she drops on her desk before she leaves are meant for _someone_ to sign, and she somehow manages to pull herself into Oliver's office and place them on his desk.

But then she's in there, and it smells like him – like cologne and pine needles and leather and _home _– and suddenly she's all too aware of the oversized dark green couch in the corner of the room. She swears it's only for a second that she curls up on it and shuts her eyes, and the next thing she feels is a gentle hand brushing over her forehead and soft whispering.

She can barely open her eyes – she wishes that her so called 'genius' brain had had enough sense to make her swallow some pain pills – but when she does it's a concerned Oliver crouched down in front of her with the little pout he always has when confused; an equally worried Dig standing just by the door.

Oliver's saying something, but all Felicity can do is whimper out a pathetic "_cramps" _and then his eyes are widening in understanding before he leaves her sight and Felicity wants to cry when he returns with a glass of water and two small pills.

Diggle offers her a small smile before turning to face whoever is walking from the elevator to the office, and Felicity can only snuggle deeper into the blanket that has suddenly appeared on top of her. Oliver slowly slides off her heels and there's a brief second when she feels something soft and warm press to the center of her forehead, right between her eyebrows, but then it's gone.

When she wakes, a good three hours later, it's to the soft, crooning voice and languid beat of the song. She glances around the room, taking in the dim lights, drawn curtains, and the small speaker placed on Oliver's desk.

It's warm smile spreading across her face when she looks through the glass and sees Oliver holding a meeting with a trustee at her desk just outside, his elbows resting neatly next to her stack of bright pink panda sticky notes and assortment of brightly colored markers as he twirls a pencil around in his hand.

She laughs when she realizes that the item dancing between his fingers is actually her lipstick.

The next time they hear the song, Oliver's in the middle of chasing down The Overlord.

He's the newest drug dealer in town, attempting to swing customers to the benefits of the combination of vertigo and heroin, and while the man is absolutely wreaking havoc across Starling City, it takes Felicity a good five minutes to stop laughing at the name.

Oliver tries to look impatient – with any other person he knows he could – but there's something about the way Felicity can't even hold herself upright because she's laughing so hard that threatens a smile across the leather clad man's face.

So that's how the mission starts – with aching ribs and aching smiles – but it's Oliver who nearly trips over his feet when he hears the familiar rhythm playing faintly in the background of the coms.

It's not uncommon for the two men to hear music filtering over the channels when the cases aren't life or death situations. They prefer it, in fact, to the sound of nothing because it reminds them that they have someone watching over them quite literally.

But it's the song – _the _song – that Oliver has come to associate only with a certain blonde haired, blue-eyed smart ass and it makes his breath catch as he crouches behind the large beam on the roof of the parking garage.

He's about to make a leap for the next building – nearly in the air – when Felicity's quiet humming flows over the radio.

Oliver doesn't exactly know what happens, but he's so focused on the soft lull of Felicity's voice that, for a quick second, he misses the sheet of ice in front of him and nearly skids off the roof.

He stops himself, thankfully, but it's still a nasty sprained ankle lying underneath his leathers, but he's can't even focus on that, nor the movement in the building next to him, because Felicity is humming the song that feels like peace and safety and home.

It's Diggle's worried voice snapping over the coms that halts the humming, and Oliver wants stick a friendly arrow in Dig's thigh when he does because he never wants to not hear what he's hearing now, but with Felicity's _what's happening, is everyone okay? _chanting in his ear, he's quickly back to reality.

"Guys? Seriously, what's happening?"

Oliver's all wounded pride and head hung low when he admits that he might have to call it a night – when he tells Felicity that his ankle may or may not be broken – but he leaves out the part about almost falling off the roof because if there is one thing about Felicity he doesn't mind never hearing directed at him, it is her loud voice.

It's only when they enter the lair, Oliver leaning heavily on Diggle and face white with pain, that relief washes over Felicity, and the red pen she's chewing on falls from her fingers as she sees Oliver's lips draw tight and eyebrows scrunch.

Diggle has to go – Lyla is calling him with an emergency of their own – and soon enough it's Oliver and Felicity left standing alone in the lair. She's wrapping his ankle within seconds, chastising him on watching for ice because _even people with eight packs can't balance their way through black ice, Oliver, you aren't God._

He knows it's Felicity's way of channeling her worry, but that doesn't stop him from gazing down at her with the same look that he'd had on in that café. It also doesn't help matters when Felicity's play list shuffles back to that same song, and suddenly they realize just how close they are and just how alone they are.

They are both still, and it's just the quiet rumble of the sound thumping gently in the background. Oliver doesn't know why he suddenly feels so _so _light. For a second, he thinks Felicity has somehow managed to hit him with a dose of pain killers, but then he can see her staring at him and knows that she feels it too.

He doesn't know what comes over him, but he wants to dance. It's an insane thought, though, because the Oliver Queen they both know – at least the Oliver Queen after the island – doesn't dance, let alone at 2 AM in his leathers and with a broken ankle.

But then it's Felicity's warm voice and a quiet _all done_, and he's staring at her again and _God, he loves her._

The revelation startles Oliver so much so that he's almost on his feet, but Felicity's gotten good at reading him over the past two years and she's gently pushing him back down on the metal table.

She'd already figured out a month ago that she loved him to. But, because it's them – because it's Oliver and Felicity – the two say nothing, content to fall deeper into the dance of quick glances and longing sighs that has become their constant.

Oliver knows that he's probably spending the night in the lair – there's no way in hell Felicity will be able to manage balancing him while trying to climb up the steps – so Felicity's helps make him comfortable in the tiny bed that they had set up in the lair for impromptu naps.

His heart swells three times its size when Felicity grabs one of his spare sweatshirts from his duffle back and slips it on, making no indication that she was leaving. She snags a can of microwavable soup and a few waters before gingerly climbing onto the bed next to him.

She sits cross legged at the end of the bed while he rests facing her against the headboard, legs stretched out at ankle propped on a pillow. Her lip is in between her teeth and Oliver's heart is racing to the point where he's sure she can hear it, but then she's back to herself and chattering about her day as she rips open a package of pop tarts and offers one of them to Oliver.

Oliver knows he won't eat it – sugar has never appealed much to him after the island – but the way Felicity downright devours the treat, that damn song playing almost like a lullaby in the background, makes him smile like an idiot.

The next time Felicity hears the song, she's on her second glass of wine and lounging lazily on her couch, moonlight skittering in through the window. The TV's on and silent, but she's more focused on waving her hands back and forth as she gazes at the shadows they create on her ceiling.

She hears Oliver before she sees him, but it still makes her jump when he sees him climbing through her window.

She doesn't really know when he had first started doing that. Something about the way he had navigated her apartment with ease and familiarity the first time he had actually _officially_ been over let her know that it was probably long before she could imagine, though.

She's tense as she watches him come through the window, hoping beyond hope that it's not because he's managed to get himself shot or something, but then he's looking at her from across the room and she's staring at him from her horizontal position on the couch, and even though he has just used her window like a front door, there's something so domestic and calming in their ease that it takes her breath away.

He's about to ask her why the hell her window is unlocked _again_, but they both know she leaves it open for him, so instead he sinks down on the floor next to the couch, in line with Felicity's stomach, and takes a long swig of the bottle of wine next to him.

Felicity's already a little more than tipsy, so she doesn't even think twice as she lifts her hand to his hair. Oliver tenses for a second, but then he's leaning into her and a sigh falls from his mouth as she runs her fingers back and forth.

"Tough day?"

Oliver hums in response, letting his head fall back a little so that it brushes barely against Felicity's stomach.

"You hungry?"

It's an innocent question, but they both snort at it because a world where Felicity Smoak offers to cook is a world in which they do not live.

Oliver knows she doesn't have anything readily edible in her fridge. He also knows from the state of Felicity – a bottle of wine and a pair of large flannel pajama pants – that she hasn't had anything to eat either.

It's a soft "_come here_" that has Felicity allowing Oliver to drag her off the couch.

For as much wine as she preaches that she drinks, Oliver can't help but notice that she's a little more than tipsy. He starts to lead her to the kitchen before Felicity's making a pouty face, and it's only when he sees her staring longingly and the wine bottle next to the couch that he lets out a genuine laugh.

Felicity wants mac and cheese, Oliver secretly does too, but Felicity's also determined on helping out in the kitchen and that creates a disaster all on it's own. It doesn't help that Oliver and her have managed to finish the bottle of wine – doesn't help that Felicity cracks open a second one with a fit of giggles bending her over at the middle.

And Oliver can't help but join her, because her skin is flushed in hues of red and pink and her hair is down in tousled curls and her purple tank top is riding up a _tiny _bit and Oliver has never seen her eyes so bright or anything more beautiful.

She takes his breath away.

And then the song starts, just like it did at the gala, just like it did in the café – just like it did when Oliver had pressed his lips to Felicity's forehead when she had fallen asleep in his office or over the coms during their mission – and Oliver knows down to his very being that she is _it_.

There's no more after her – no more searching, no more pining, no more what if's or unanswered questions. He sees every bit of his future cemented in the soft sway of her hips and her wine stained lips – in the way her eyes widen when she hears the song and he knows that she feels it to.

And the realization slams into him much harder than any train or car or person ever could. Because somewhere between all the laughter, all the fights, all the sickness and injuries and broken heels and dented cars – somewhere between all the chaos and beauty and terror of their lives, the song has become _theirs._

He doesn't know what compels him, but soon enough he's taking her into his arms and matching the sway of her hips with his own lithe movements. The flush has spread down her chest and Oliver can feel her pressed against him in more ways than one, and dancing there, in her kitchen, under the soft glow of the refrigerator light and the buzz of too much wine, he realizes he's _happy._

Somewhere between it all – between the island and the party boy and the I.T. girl and CEO and Arrow and Girl Wednesday – they have become each other's.

The next time they hear the song, it's on purpose. Diggle's just finished giving his best man speech, and Felicity's side is still burning from laughter and while Oliver was just the brunt of what seemed like a two-hour joke, he'll serve himself up as chopped liver over and over again to see Felicity laugh like this.

But when Oliver gently guides her to the dance floor for their first dance, she's a bundle of anxious nerves and timid lip bites. As silly as it is, Oliver's just as nervous too. They know what their first dance will be to – how could they not? But suddenly it's all so real and they are at their wedding and they are husband and wife and she is _his_ and he is _hers_.

Oliver's crying before the song even starts, and so he pulls Felicity tight against him and presses his lips firmly to her forehead. She's a mess of sniffles too, and she buries her face in the crook of his neck, her lips pressing gently to his skin.

He can't talk – can say anything but a quiet and firm _I love you_ because his throat is so tight and his breath is too scarce. He squeezes his eyes shut and borrows his face into her hair, breathing in her familiar smell and relishing in the warmth of her embrace.

Every moment lead to this – every beat of the song built to now. He doesn't know when he started to tie so many memories to this song, but he's glad he did because it only amplifies the love he feels for the woman in his arms.

_So, thank you, for taking a chance on me._

Oliver grips Felicity tighter – his _wife _– tighter, and even though both him and Felicity feel like they are the only two in the room, everyone can see the pure and innocent love the they have for each other.

For it's not just Donna and Thea gazing at them with happy grins and full hearts – not just Sara and Diggle and Lyla smiling fondly at their second family. It's Laurel and Quentin Lance squeezing each other's arms because they both know what it feels like to be lost and to feel like coming home in their own ways. It's Sara Lance and Roy sneaking in sultry winks at the couple every chance they get. It's Moira and Robert Queen knowing that their son has _finally_ found something worth never letting go. It's Tommy Merlyn, smiling down at his best friend – his brother – with a glint in his eye and all the love to give in his heart.

It's love and loss and beauty and pandemonium and everything in between and Oliver knows that even the impossible will _always _be possible with his Felicity next to him.

_Oh, I always let you down, you're shattered on the ground, but still I find you there, __**next to me**__._

Felicity pulls back and offers him a smile, so full of emotion that he knows his heart will never be his again.

Next to me, indeed.

**(Epilogue)**

Felicity wakes to an empty bed.

Her fingers run over the open mattress and for a second, she's back to the time when Oliver had fled to Lian Yu and she had felt more alone than ever but then she feels the warmth of the sheets – sees the gentle light of the hallway streaming under the crack of the door – and she's home again.

It's oddly silent in the Queen household – something that never seems to be the case what with her new pending position as head of R&D of Queen Consolidated and Donna Smoak's ever constant presence roaming in and out of their little bubble.

She stretches out like a cat, letting out a soft moan as she feels her tendons pull into place, before curling back up and bringing Oliver's pillow to her chest.

Her eyes flash to the blinking baby monitor, and she frowns when all she hears is static.

She knows everything's okay – knows that everyone's safe because if Oliver can do anything it's protect his family – but the silence is enough to pull her out of bed and to their bedroom door.

The minute she swings it open, though, she can feel her heart flutter, because the song that's faintly playing up the stairs from the living room holds so many memories it makes fills her chest with warmth and light.

It's a beat she knows all too well, and she's able to mask her footsteps to the drawling drums as she makes her way down the stairs.

And, for every memory Oliver and her have made in the presence of this song – from their first dance to drunken poker nights to Oliver getting down on one knee to their wedding – _this _has to be her favorite.

Her hand is covering her mouth in awe as her eyes sparkle with tears because swaying in front of her to the song that has become _so much_ a part of them as anything is her entire world.

She watches as Oliver gently cradles the head of their week-old daughter – watches as he stands with his back to her facing the skyline through their windows, arms wrapped so firmly around their baby as he presses her into his bare chest, gently rocking back and forth.

He's quietly humming along to the song and Felicity realizes that she's not the only one staring in utter fascination.

Oliver turns slightly, and she can see the wide-eyed wonder of their baby girl as she gazes up at her father. Oliver is just as starstruck, tracing his finger down her tiny upturned nose, cooing at the little bundle in his arms, and Felicity knows she can't blame it on hormones when a small tear falls down her cheek.

She wants so much so to go and snuggle up to her little family, but there's something so magical, so beautiful and raw and tender about this moment with Oliver and their baby girl that keeps Felicity rooted to her spot.

She feels a gentle hand on her shoulder and she turns quietly to face her mother. The same look of adoration is mirrored across her face, and Felicity doesn't need her mother to say anything at all because she just _knows._

_Thank you, for taking a chance on me. I know it isn't easy, but I hope to be worth it._

She knows he will _always_ be worth it.

**Please let me know what you think!**


End file.
